


Perspectives~Chapter Three~Part Two: I'm Zero

by PhoenixDragon



Series: Perspectives [6]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Dark, Gen, Horror, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-05
Updated: 2010-07-05
Packaged: 2017-10-12 05:58:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/121583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhoenixDragon/pseuds/PhoenixDragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Warnings, Notes, Disclaimers and Links to be found in the last chapter...</p></blockquote>





	Perspectives~Chapter Three~Part Two: I'm Zero

**  
' **I'm Zero ( _Don't Waste Words With Me_ )</>'**   
**

  
_Even though you're well intentioned, one or two or three things you mentioned - Leave a taste familiar to me so - Even with a slight sarcastic, a ripple in a voice elastic - I could crack the slightest code of woe_ **- Union of Knives**  


**3:28PM**

Sam gasped himself out of his daze behind the wheel of the Impala, his tears rapidly drying as an eighteen wheeler thundered past, the Chevy rocking in the wake of its passage. He could feel time slipping through his fingers, the weight and urgency to get to Dean like lead in his heart and limbs, the tips of his fingers tingling with electric sparks that spoke of fear and loss of special moments in time.

And he had done it to himself.

Even as he begged for Dean, for his brother - he didn't _want_ to know his brother, not really.

He asked Dean to be his brother again, to just _be_ brothers so many months and so long ago, with Gordon and death breathing down their necks - but fought it when he realized what it meant. It meant being Sammy, Dean taking the lead, calling the shots, being the eldest. And when he fought back, Dean retreated, closed his walls around his soul again, confused and angry - because wasn't that what he wanted? When the truth was, Sam didn't really know what he wanted.

He wanted Dean to be Dean - but he also wanted to learn to fend for himself, to be the older brother when push came to shove. But he couldn't have it both ways - and while he knew that, he knew that it wasn't possible, he fought to get it that way. And he lost so much precious time. He was looking so hard for the end, looking for a way out, around and through it - he missed living those final days with Dean.

And that was all on him.

Oh, he wanted to blame Dean, wanted to make it all his fault - but that was unfair and untrue - and in the end, that was what led him to the crossroads in the first place, when Dean was barely cold in his grave. He wanted to take it back, take it all back - just rewind the time and enjoy what he had left with his brother, even if it was only a year. But he had known, even then, that it was impossible - just as he had known it was impossible the first time he had seen Dean, truly _seen_ him for what he was underneath all the snark, crass bullshit and macho bravado. He couldn't take back that moment, that time and rewind it. It was a child's fantasy, that hope, that wish - a daydream and nothing more. No one, nothing could make him unsee what he had seen - just as nothing could have brought back that year he had let fall away so easily.

He had no idea why he remembered that wonderful and awful time (why now?), why it shone so clearly in his mind's eye, but now that it had, he wondered how it had ever slipped away. That crystalline, brilliant moment where he had actually seen his brother, truly _seen_ him - and he had let it fade away just as fast as he had found it. He knew why, though. He was too young, too overwhelmed with everything that it took to exist and breathe and be Sam Winchester, youngest of the clan and least of them (though Dean never saw it that way, he was sure). His head, his _heart_ was too filled with that to truly comprehend and deal with what he had learned, so he let it ebb away, let it fall into the fog of nightmares and never really looked at it again.

Until now it seemed.

It had been the first time he had run away, but it wasn't the last - and now (with the understanding and maturity of a full adult) he wondered what he had been running _from_. From Dad? From the family mission? Or from Dean and what he could never allow himself to remember - but could never truly forget.

He sniffled and swiped under his eyes with the heel of his right hand, blinking in dismay at the overgrown weeds that loomed up on the passenger side of the Impala, fully awake and aware for what seemed like the first time in months. He took a deep breath, letting it expand his chest until his ribs and throat ached with it, then blew it out slowly, the feeling of waking from a really weird and frightening nightmare still clinging to the edges of his consciousness as he surveyed the calm and sunshine beyond his windshield, the open road winding ever on in front of him.

He felt...at peace. He felt awake. And he felt determined. He was going to find his brother - he was going to get to know the man, to know Dean Winchester and he would never know regret like this again. He was sad at all that he had lost, how much time he had let trip-hammer by him while he tried to become something other than Sam Winchester, someone other than Dean's brother - because even as that title, that knowledge was limiting, it was also freeing. He was the only one with that hangup, with the block getting in the way of them being brothers - and he was the only one who could remove it.

And that right there? That knowledge? Was freeing, even as it had its own limits. He knew how to be happy with himself, how to be happy being Sam - shit, even Sammy. Now he just had to quit wasting precious seconds by the side of the road and let Dean know this. Find some way to tell his brother how much he loved him, all of him - the good, the bad, the hidden and the known. Break past the barriers that Dean built around himself, that he used to protect his soul from his harsh world under the guise of protecting others and get to know who his brother truly was - because he had a feeling he was in for a pleasant surprise. He had always known Dean to be a good man, to have a good heart beating under those rockabilly layers he insisted on wearing - now it was time to show his brother what he knew and get him to accept that reality. Because he had a feeling that getting Dean to accept his own inherent goodness was going to be like asking the mountains to go to Mohammed.

Though the mountains had never dealt with Sam (Sammy) Winchester, had they?

He pulled in another breath and felt a smile tug at the corners of his mouth, even as his head started to ache from the bright spike of sunshine that fell into his eyes. Normally, that would have annoyed him, but instead of being pissy about it, he just dropped the visor so that it shielded his eyes and put the Chevy back in gear, absently noticing that she was getting low on fuel. That meant a stop and one that he could scarce afford to make, but he had just killed ten minutes he couldn't really afford to kill either, whilst tripping down memory lane. He figured he'd just make up the time - for once he wasn't going to be sorry that he had lost those few minutes. He had rediscovered something long forgotten and...he had found _himself_ again. He had a feeling he hadn't really known himself in a long time, that he hadn't truly been _awake_ for a long time either - and the feeling was too good to begrudge himself those few minutes, precious as they were. He would find Dean, come Hell or high water - and he would then take more precious minutes fixing what had been broken between them.

He patted the old girl's steering wheel, easing her back into drive and putting her wheels back on pavement where they belonged. She hummed her approval at his actions and tore up the road, her atmosphere almost content and less lonely than it had been even five minutes ago. For a moment he wondered it Dean was right, if the Chevy really did have a soul - then filed that away in the back of his head, not daring to dismiss it as she rumbled comfortably around him, her nose pointed towards the nearest gas station up ahead. Coffee, restroom break and gas - then came the task of finding Dean. It wouldn't be easy, he was sure, but it could be done, if he just hoped hard enough - and drove faster than that.

He glanced at his cellphone laying on the seat beside him and wished for it to ring, wished for it to be Dean - so when it actually did ring, he jumped ten feet, the Impala swerving slightly towards the next lane before he hastily corrected her, palms suddenly sweaty with fear and hope. He licked his lips, keeping his eyes on the road and his voice neutral as he flipped the phone open and hit Send, settling it against his ear with a white-knuckle grip.

"This is Sam."

"Sam?" He tried to not be disappointed, but it was hard to not be. It wasn't Dean, but it also wasn't Bobby, so...

"Yeah - who is this?"

"It's Travis, Sam - it's been awhile, hasn't it, boy?" Sam searched his memory and came up with a grizzled face to match the name, a smile tugging at his lips as he recalled one of the few Hunters even John had a hard time running off - or pissing off. It had been quite a few years, but he recalled 'Uncle' Travis with clarity, his voice and eagerness as big as his appetite and taste for Rolling Rock.

"Yeah, yeah it has Travis - how've you been?"

"Same old, same old...I uhhh, heard about your Daddy, there Sam. I was uhhh, sorry to hear about that. You boys doin' okay?"

Sam glanced at the passenger seat, its emptiness reflecting back at him and he had to take a deep, calming breath before answering.

"Yeah...yeah, Travis. Ummm, can I ask why you're calling?" He was hoping he didn't sound rude, but usually other Hunters called for one reason and one reason only. Best to cut to the chase and save them both some time.

"Sure, Sam," Travis replied, mildly puzzled but not upset - for which Sam was grateful. "I was wondering if you and Dean could help me out. I kind've managed to get my right paw broken and I'm hunting a creature that requires both of 'em. Kinda thought you and Dean might want to give me an assist on this one - I know how you boys like the interesting ones."

"Normally, Travis, I would love too," Sam said carefully, not wanting to give too much away (as the hunting community was comprised of notorious gossips - hard lesson learned there) but also not wanting to cut ties, just in case. " But I'm kind of in the middle of a case right now with Dean and...well, we just can't drop this one, you know?"

"I understand, Sam, no problem," Travis replied cheerily. "Just wanted to give you boys first crack at it. Maybe some other time."

"Sure, Travis - and thanks, for calling I mean. Keep us in mind, alright?"

He was relieved at Travis' willingness to let it go, but had to rein in his impatience as they exchanged ending pleasantries, the gas station he was hoping for looming up on his right. He turned in to the nearest available pump just as Travis hung up, the phone call relatively short for the old chatterbox, but still too long for Sam - what if Dean did try to call?

He was overwhelmed with a sudden need to check and scrolled through the phone's directory, easing the Impala into park as he did so. He was mildly disappointed, but relieved all at once to see he had no missed calls and no voice-mails - though it wouldn't hurt to leave the line free, just in case. He slid the cell into his pocket as he trotted into the station, wallet already out, going on automatic as he got his coffee, the key to the restroom and paid for gas. In less than seven minutes he was back on the road, muscles relaxing as he got the Chevy started back up again, her rumble the comfort it hadn't been the whole time Dean was in Hell. He patted her dash as he merged into the left lane, letting the road guide him to Dean and whatever may lie ahead.

"I know, girl, I miss him, too - we'll get him back," he soothed, placing the cellphone close to his leg for easy access. Just in case - always just in case.

"We'll get him Home."

 **~ * ~ * ~**

  
 _It hadn't taken him too long to grab his duffle, his meager assortment of clothes and mementos a sad testament to how little he really had._

And now that he'd had a taste of all that he ever really wanted, Sam knew his nights would be haunted with it - his dreams of blood and fire and monsters replaced with dreams of safe and normal and HOME.

He didn't know if he could forgive Dean for that, even with what he had seen. Then again, he didn't know if Dean would forgive him for leaving the way he had, for scaring him, for worrying him - though with his brother you never asked. More often than not, forgiveness was just there, whether it was required or not.

And sometimes, sometimes Sam hated that.

He took a few more minutes to say goodbye to Bones - hoping the retriever would find a new home, someone else to love him as much as Sam did - and his heart broke that he was just leaving this wonderful animal behind, his future so rocky and uncertain. He glanced up from his goodbyes to see Dean leaned against the Impala, her sleek black shape parked a few trailers down (which explained why he didn't hear her) one foot tucked over the other as he talked on his cellphone (a recent addition to their weapons and other paraphernalia) his eyes tired and faraway - and everywhere but on Sam and his dog.

Sam stood there for a moment, watching his brother as he talked, taking in how tense Dean's shoulders were, how thin and travel-weary he appeared. He looked so much like Dean in his leather jacket, scuffed boots and worn blue jeans - larger than life and bad ass as ever (at least, in his mind) but he also looked...old. And Sam hated that he was the person who made Dean look like that, that he made Dean look so defeated and faded.

Damn him anyhow.

He trudged closer, duffle dragging the dirt and saw the trunk was popped partially open, ready for him to drop the canvas bag in - and he hated that he hadn't fought more, left Dean unsure as to what his baby brother was going to do. But when Dean looked over at him, voice still low as he talked to whoever, his older brother smiled, eyes crinkling at the corners, the cloudy jade lit from within and Sam found he couldn't be angry anymore. That was his _smile, the one Dean had just for him. The one that brightened his whole face, that made him look so young and so happy - and it was all for him._

Sam didn't know anyone else who had a smile just for them and he let himself be wrapped up in it, a smile forming on his own lips as he basked in his brother's warmth and solid presence. It was moments like these where they were the only ones who existed in the world, just Sam and Dean and Dean and Sam - and just like that, the ache and anger in his heart eased and he dropped his duffle in the trunk, closing her up with a muted thunk before making his way to Dean's side, leaning close to him as he relaxed against the heated metal of the Impala.

Dean nudged him with an elbow, smile still firmly affixed as he assessed Sam in the light of the desert day, his tone still hushed and muffled in the echoing air around the trailer park.

Dad. Sam figured that would be who Dean was talking too - there weren't many that Dean had numbers for, but he was hoping maybe it would have been Pastor Jim or Bobby or even Travis. But no, it was Dad - and suddenly he knew why Dean was standing here, looking so old and yet so young all at once and he found it was hard to keep the anger at bay. It was one thing for Dean to come looking on his own (he expected that, he actually did) but if Dean was sent to 'fetch' him, well...that was just different. He didn't know how to explain it, it just was.

"Yeah...yeah we'll be home soon. Yeah, Dad - I got it." Dean's lip trembled for a moment and he closed his eyes, a flicker of something dark closing over his face before he was just Dean again, having a rather tense conversation with his father. "Yes sir, yes sir - we'll be there in a few hours. No sir. Never again, no sir - I...I understand."

Sam looked away as his brother hung up the phone, Dean's whole face pinched and tight as if he was going to cry. Dean never cried, not even when that Wendigo cut him so deep last year and there was blood everywhere and Sam thought he was going to die. To see his older brother so close to actual tears, well - it shook him up, left his own chest and throat tight, his own eyes blinking back tears.

It was wrong in so many ways to see that. It was like seeing Dean's soul while standing in the doorway of Sam's trailer. It wasn't meant for him, it was too close, too intimate for a creature like Dean - and Sam tried to show his brother his love for him, his respect for him, by averting his eyes, giving Dean time to pull himself together.

Dean cleared his throat, the cellphone buzzing hollowly as he hit the End button, boots scuffing in the dirt as pushed away from the Impala, hand warm and heavy on Sam shoulder.

"Heya, Sammy - Sam. You mad at me?"

He almost cried himself, right then. Dean's hesitant correction of his name and his soft tone almost too much. Dean hadn't been here more than ten minutes tops and he already felt wrung out, hollowed out and just plain tired. He wondered how he had made it to fourteen without looking thirty with all that his brother could put him through. John ran him ragged too, but Dean was the only one who could make him feel _ragged and plain worn out._

But he was still Dean, he was still his brother. So for him, Sam could suck it up and try - he owed him so much more than that, but Dean never asked for more.

"Naw, not mad - not really." He forced himself to look up (though he didn't have to look as far as he had a year ago) and into his brother's eyes, rewarded with another crinkly smile as he did so, his heart easing in his chest when Dean squeezed his shoulder, nimbly guiding him around the front of the car towards the passenger side. "Though I am gonna miss my dog."

Dean looked startled for a moment, his eyes drifting until he caught sight of the golden retriever sitting patiently on the front porch, panting happily in the shadowed cool of the overhang. His gaze sharpened and his mouth drew down into a frown, forehead pinched as he looked between Sam and Bones, an idea playing across the tanned planes of his face.

"Well...we don't wanna leave him here - there's really no one around for miles. Who'd look after 'im?" Said with another squeeze to his shoulder, communicating his approval of Sam's location, his appreciation for his little digs (humble as they were) and so much understanding for it all. "I think we can make a detour - whaddya say?"

He heard the 'Sammy' even though it wasn't said and smiled up into his older brother's hopeful, earnest gaze. This was why he loved Dean so, this was why he missed him - even as he was trying to get away from him. How could he ever escape his brother's love for him?

And why did he ever want to?

"What about Dad?" Haltingly, saddened by the darkness that rose so fleeting in his brother's eyes, but knowing the question had to be asked. It was expected even.

Dean gave his shoulder an absent pat, fingers catching in his collar, brushing the material in a ruffling gesture before it fell back to his side, those eyes haunted for only mere moments before he was Dean again, Sam's older brother and all around pain in the ass. He looked fleetingly at Bones then back at Sam, a mischievous gleam replacing that flicker of darkness and Sam wished for his hand on his shoulder again, already missing the weight and warmth of Dean's touch - something else that was just for him and him only.

"What about him?" was the cocky answer - and Sam's heart just about burst with warmth and pride and sorrow and happiness as Dean whistled for the dog, jogging around to open the back door behind the driver's side to let the retriever in. He watched, semi-frozen by the flood of feeling as Dean ruffled Bones' thick fur, making kissing-soothing noises as he got the dog settled and calm in the backseat before making his way back to Sam.

"Won't he know?" was the only question that he could think of and he was surprised by the deep, joyous laugh that tumbled from Dean's lips, his whole being vibrating with happiness and that Dean-ness he just carried like a cloak.

"Only if you tell him," was the smiling reply.

He tried to soak that in, that deep joy and wonder and awe that was his brother (though he would never tell him), etching this moment into his memory as he gazed up into the crinkly, green, green smile that was all his, Dean's eyes saying a thousand and one things even as he never said anything at all.

"Thanks, Dean." Never adequate enough - but always more than enough for Dean as his brother blushed in pleasure, averting his gaze as his whole body relaxed into Sam's happiness.

"Don't thank me," said with a nonchalant shrug. "You're the one who has to clean her backseat."

And Sam laughed then, all thoughts of his father, of running away, of anger and betrayal and sorrow and uncertainty washed away by the big goofy grin on his brother's lips. For a little while, it would be just him and Dean - and he couldn't think how he could want it any other way.

 **~ * ~ * ~**

  
 **11:41AM**

Actually, the house was on the outskirts of Peoria in a township called Bellevue (which Dean got a chuckle out of), not in the city itself, which was a plus in oh-so-many ways.

But it did have its downsides, too.

That meant it would be harder to get information on the house, the previous (and current) occupants, the whereabouts of said occupants and the name of the closest occult shop to the house itself.

In reality, the occult shop information was the hardest to get - only because the 411 operator seemed rather unsure on what exactly Dean wanted. But with patience, muttered swear words (with the mouth piece covered) and a heart-felt promise to never call again, he got a good location and everything he needed at his disposal.

He really needed to send Micah and Sydney some flowers and season passes to the Huskies. Without them he still would have been at square one with the Bernstile house. He now knew that the previous owner (and the most likely suspect) had been an old man named Russell Tomkins and he had died while in the house, his estate liquidated immediately after and used for his cremation as he'd had no reported living relatives to bury him.

According to the (extensive) records he had been an ornery old bastard, too, before he bit it. Constant calls to 911 for various minor complaints, ranging from vandalism (kids walking across his lawn) to neighborhood dogs and their barking. Seemed he called emergency services at least three times a day - and when he didn't call for two days, the cops came out to see what was wrong with him. Knocking on the door didn't roust the old fucker, so they found a way in and after a search of the house, discovered his body in the attic. He had been stone-cold dead for two days - a stroke had gotten him while he'd been paddling around up there in the summer heat, half naked and covered in Vaseline of all things.

Seems it was still sensational enough (in the clerk's offices any way) that they were more than happy to share the information with a fellow clerk on the other side of the river - they didn't ask which river, Dean didn't tell - and he got deluged with information that he normally would have to flash a badge to get. He in turn shared a cock-and-bull story (that was actually based on a case he had worked five years ago) and a fun time was had all around as they happily spilled that the current occupants already had the house up on the block, the 'For Sale' sign firmly affixed to the front lawn. It had been empty for a year - so that settled the problem of getting any civvies out of the way.

He noticed that Birch just let him make his calls and ramble into the phone without so much as a twitched eyebrow or question. That was a relief in many ways, but it would make things harder, too. This was easily a two man job and Dean was one man down. He had to figure out how to get to the occult shop, get to the house, take care of the poltergeist and beat feet before Sam caught up with him. It would be a squeak and a fine one at that, but it could be done.

Until then, he just had to come up with a bullshit story to try to feed a guy who not only went out of his way to give him a lift all the way to his destination, but did it with a smile on his face. In essence, he had to find a way to get rid of his new friend before he figured out Dean was a ghost-buster and chalked him up as a loony or worse. For some odd reason, he liked Birch - he liked him alot - and the thought of Birch disliking or distrusting him made his heart heavier than it already was. The truth just couldn't happen in this situation, but Twig had heard too much, seen too much for a standard blow-off line of crap and Dean's brain was too wrung out to come up with anything better.

So he sat mute, pen gripped tightly on one hand, doodling along the spiral ring of his notepad, contemplating the loss of the only friend and ally left out of his steadily dwindling supply of them. It was inevitable, he supposed and putting it off was stupid and would only lead to him being more stung when Birch tossed him out on his ass.

He had learned alot about Birch on his drive up (when he wasn't pumping unsuspecting clerks for information, that was). He had learned he was a reformed smoker, he had never drank a drop of alcohol in his life (though he liked the smell of fresh beer), his wife's name had been Nancy and she had passed some unspecified time ago and left him alone with two dogs, one named Raymond and the other named Digger. His brother had died five years ago due to his 'intake of fried foods' and his 'love of wild women' (which made Dean rethink his eating and dating habits). His friends had all passed away as well, except for two - and of those two, one had one foot in the grave and the other had the 'forgetting' disease (the guy with one foot in the grave had been hit by a 'thunderclap' as Birch quaintly put it). So he was pretty much all alone in the world except for a nephew in Arizona and another in Montanoa - both of whom called often, but it just wasn't the same. He and Nancy had never been blessed with children, so he had a big old rambling farmhouse to call his own until the end came for him - which it would, as it did for everyone.

Dean had felt his heart curl in his chest as Birch spit this tidbit out with a cheery wave of one hand, his eyes sad even as his mouth smiled. He had felt a kinship with this old man almost as soon as he had stepped foot into the truck, had even fallen asleep against the side door of the old girl while they chugged along - and Dean just didn't _do_ that, not when a tentative friend could turn enemy so very quickly. He didn't know why he felt so close to Birch, they really had nothing in common except loneliness and it must have gotten really bad if that's how he made friends - just because they were _there_. He suspected there was more to it, to this sudden need to give a shit about someone else besides Sam (to have someone actually give a shit about him), but he never examined such things too closely - only mourned their passing.

And dammit, this one was hitting hard and he hadn't even started the ball rolling on getting that inevitable boot, yet.

"Just let me know when to stop, youngster," Birch intoned softly, his eyes questioning and sad - like he expected Dean to throw _him_ over. You know 'Thanks for the lift, you can get on your way you old fuck' type of line as they parted ways.

God, he would _never_...but Birch didn't know that, did he? He hadn't really said anything about himself - really felt like there was nothing _to_ say. I mean, how do you explain yourself when all you have done all of your life is safeguard your brother and hunt monsters? Can't even get into the 'theological' discussion of Hell and everything that stemmed from (and before) that - and beyond those things, there really wasn't much to him, not _really_.

And dammit, he was not going to get morose and depressed over this shit.

But he also wasn't going to fuck Birch over in any way, not the way he usually did with civvies - and not the way Birch was expecting. That's kind of why he felt so heavy and sick to his stomach - as always, his gut was way ahead of his brain. He was going to tell Birch the truth, tell him what he was here for and damn the consequences. Though he knew what those consequences were, he knew he was going to lose this guy and not in a pleasant way. But that was going to happen anyway, right? Bullshit story or truth, he wasn't going to have a friend by the time this conversation was over, so why was he delaying it?

' _To hold onto what I've got, just for a little longer - I don't have much left beyond that._ '

"Dean? You okay?"

' _No, Birch, I'm not. I haven't been okay in a very long time._ '

"Yeah, yeah - just...just gimme a minute, 'kay, Twig? I just..." He shrugged one shoulder, swallowing hard as he tried to stem the wave of depression that rolled over him in a black cloud. He was going to lose Birch, he had lost Sam and as a consequence, he had just lost Bobby. When he got this job done, what came after? He had no skills, no real talent at anything besides shooting a gun or shooting off his mouth, neither of which paid the bills.

He couldn't continue hunting, because Sam or Bobby would find him - and how could he face them? How could he face his old life, when even his brother couldn't trust him with the truth? When he couldn't be trusted?

' _There's a reason for that_ ,' something deep inside whispered. ' _There's a reason but you are too much of a coward to face it - even what Sam is doing now is nothing compared to what you did in Hell - and you know it, you know it and you judge him, but you are nothing but a hypocrite and a fucking_ coward -'

So, he wasn't so much running away from Sam as himself, then.

Fat lot of good that would do in the end.

Birch sat patiently, fingers drumming a tune out on the worn leather of the steering wheel, lips pursed in thought as he pulled into a parking lot, willing to wait out Dean's move. He face was a study in calm acceptance, his eyes looking tired as he waited for the young man to give him the brush off - and Dean could feel something beneath his ribs squeeze again, making him as weary inside as Birch looked. This feeling was getting old. He knew he wouldn't shake it any time soon, but he wished there was a better way to predict his own sudden shifts in mood - it was fucking with those around him and it wasn't doin' him any wonders, either.

"Birch-"

"Dean -"

Simultaneously.

They both laughed, tension easing slightly, Dean's mood lifting as the twinkle reappeared in Birch's eye, though his mouth was still twisted in doubt, small tinge of sadness in the set of his face. Dean looked away, feeling almost like he was intruding on the older man's thoughts, his disappointment in himself and how this whole mess was going to end as strong as ever. This was going to be bad - no matter which way it played it, it wasn't going to end pretty.

Might as well get it over with.

"You, ahhhh...you first, Birch." He coughed, still unable to look the old man in the eye.

"Age before beauty, heh?" Twig quipped, but it fell flat between them, the silence once again oppressive and heavy.

Dean started picking at a loose thread in his jeans, knee bouncing as he waited Birch out, not sure he'd be able to speak now even if he wanted to. He knew he was only putting off the inevitable, but he just didn't have the strength to come right out with it, so he waited feeling every bit the coward he had become.

"I, ahhh, noticed we're back to calling me Birch," the farmer started, voice overly cheery. Dean closed his eyes for a moment, hating that the two of them had gotten to be so damned tight so damned quick - and how the fuck had that happened, anyhow?

"Guess that's okay - you was only looking to hitch a ride, I guess -"

"Birch, it's not like -"

"Age before beauty, son," Birch intoned, a bit of steel in his voice. Seems he'd had to gear up for his side of the talk as well - and he was going to have his say. It looked like Dean was no longer Dean, too - that kinda stung a bit, but he swallowed it back and lifted one shoulder to show that he was listening. "Kinda got a little over-excited, you know? Don't feel bad there, boy - I had a good time. I'm glad you let me trundle along with you on this adventure. T'was good for me, you know? Got me outta the old routine - but you ain't obliged to me in any way. I don't want you to feel you are. Was good to meet you - to take a drive with ya. You don't talk much, but heaven knows I can more than make up for that on my end."

Birch let out a soft chuckle, gnarled hands patting at the old girl's steering wheel in a fond gesture, soaking up comfort from his machine and damn if he didn't understand that. He felt a sudden fierce longing for his girl and the open road beneath them, but swallowed that back, too. It was no longer his to have - he forfeited that right when he laid her keys on the table near the door, the moment he looked at her and only saw a steel coffin.

Birch gave a final pat to the wheel as Dean watched out of the corner of his eye, the old man taking a deep breath as he turned more in the driver's seat to face him, his smile hesitant as he reached across the cab, hand outstretched in that old familiar gesture of friendliness and goodbye.

Maybe he wouldn't have to say anything after all, let bygones be bygones and let the road swallow him back up as sure as it had spit him out. Maybe Birch would forget him, he could always hope for that, if for anything else. He was surprised to have made a friend so quickly, but it did go against the Code - and this must be one of the big reasons why.

Goodbyes sucked.

He reached out to meet Birch's hand, surprised and warmed by the strong grip (at least the old man didn't think he was a pansy) but was caught off guard by the fact ol' Twig wouldn't let go. Panic, anger and calculation flitted through his mind briefly as he considered what was going on, and he forced himself to look at the grimly smiling face across from him. 'Christo' was about to rise to his lips when Birch let go, whatever he had seen in Dean's eyes seeming to satisfy him as he leaned back in his seat, voice semi-stern.

"Didn't your daddy teach you to look a man in the eye when you shake his hand, son?"

And now he had fallen right back into the acquaintance category. Yup, that stung too (though it shouldn't have).

"Yes, sir," he answered firmly, turning again to look Birch in the eye as he spoke. "And to look a man in the eye too, when you speak to him."

Birch grinned at him, the smile lasting a mere second before he turned serious once more.

"There's only one rule I have with hitchers, boy."

"And what is that, sir?" Dean pretended to not see the flinch and Birch covered it quickly, his voice never wavering as he told Dean what the young man was hoping he wouldn't have to hear.

"Before you go, just tell me why we drove out all this way, hmm?"

"Ummm, cause you insisted?" was Dean's sharp retort. Dammit, he didn't want to pick a fight - but he also didn't want to get into the Job with Twig. He just wanted to get out of the truck and let the old man think he was some ungrateful little punk-ass ingrate after all and write him off, already. Was a hell of a lot easier than trying to explain himself - and get tossed out (and maybe have the cops called on him) after all. It was just unnecessary and plain tiring, but Birch was asking, not telling him - so as unpleasant as it was, he'd go with Plan A. The Truth.

"Are you okay, Dean?" Birch asked - and damn wasn't he an observant sonuvabitch. Nope - old Birch didn't miss a trick - and if he saw part of the truth in Dean's face, Winchester was definitely too tired to dance.

"So I'm Dean again, huh?" he deflected, half-smile twitching his mouth. He nodded to himself and rolled his shoulders, quirking his lips in a wry line, eyes bleeding apology. "Sorry...sorry, Twig - my mouth gets ahead of me sometimes. Reflex, you know?"

"That I do." Twig nodded, relaxing at the use of his nickname. Maybe it was all show, all a charade - but it made Dean feel a bit better, just for a fraction of a second. Even knowing what was coming, he felt a little surer of being able to handle it without behaving like a girl.

"And, yeah - I'm fine, old timer. It's just...even with all that you overheard, it's gonna be really damned hard to explain. And...you might not be too happy with me when I get done explaining, so just hear me out before you drop-kick me, okay?"

Birch nodded, eyes unsure but attentive - and damn him he was taking too long to spit this shit out.

"Well...in my family, we uhhh, well we -" Dean flicked his gaze out towards the bright day beyond, his headache coming back full force as he willed himself to look Birch in the eye.

' _Fucking coward._ '

"You see..."

"Do you...do you need help, Dean?" Twig interrupted, voice catching and drawing on that last word before he could stop himself. The old man winced, knowing what that must have sounded like, looking startled when Dean barked out a watery sounding laugh, torn between amusement and that deep well of bewildered depression that was threatening to smother him again.

' _God, why are such a fucking girl all of a sudden, Winchester_?'

"Help," he coughed, trying to get his voice under control. "Yeah, you are gonna think that when I'm done explaining."

He laughed again and shook his head, finally able to muster up the gumption to look Twig in the eye once more. He wasn't sure where he got it from, but he was going to use it. He had to get used to rejection, to being the outsider - there was no Dad, no Sammy, no Bobby to lean on now. He'd better grow up and learn to stand on his own, if he was ever going to - and now was as good as time to start as any.

"Just...just hear me out, 'kay, Twig. Before you decide what you think, before you do anything, just...hear me out." He took a deep breath when Birch nodded, tongue peeking out to swipe nervously at his upper lip.

"Okay...alright, ummm. The reason why I'm here - what I do..." He resisted the urge to drop his eyes, to look away from Birch who was looking back with such openness and sympathy it made his breath catch. "I...hunt...things. It's what I was raised to do, kind of our - our motto, you know? 'Saving people, hunting things'...it's the uhhh, family business."

He did look down then, half-laugh barking out of him as he thought the motto through, side of his mouth twisting into a bitter smile that was more like a grimace, eyebrow twitching up as he tried to contain a sudden surge of dark emotion. The family business - right.

When he dared to look back up again, Birch still had the same expression - open, honest, mildly expectant and kind - and it about near killed what he was going to say next, but he surged on anyway. One foot was in the door, might as well step all the way in.

"The first call was from an old family friend. Seems there's a uhhh, poltergeist tearing things up in a house nearby here - it has seriously hurt five people, killed two and well...it needs to be stopped. I know that the most likely suspect was the owner who died a couple of years ago. It has had a few owners since, but the 'geist has run each of them off - which is kind of a good thing, or else they'd be dead, too. I know what I have to do, I know kind of where to look - but the house needs cleansing before I even attempt to tangle with it and -" He gulped to a halt, breaking his gaze from Birch's, whose expression hadn't changed even with the crazy shit that was tumbling out of his mouth.

"I'm sorry...I'm sorry, I'm rambling - I just...I just have this one last job and then..." He shrugged, mouth trembling with the emotions that were always too close to the surface since he crawled out of his grave - was it only a month ago? He shook his head and bent down to gather his duffle, not daring to see the surprise and maybe even anger that Birch probably had crawling across his face right about now. Probably thought he was a fucking loony that he picked up who hitched rides to nowhere for kicks and then got their jollies off of pulling the legs of old men who had better things to do.

"Then what?" came the soft query, Twig's voice heavy and sorrowful, just as Dean feared.

"Then nothing," he replied, eyes between his feet, though he wasn't seeing a damned thing - not really. "Just...nothing."

"I see..." Birch said, tone colorless and neutral.

The truck ticked to herself, occasionally an old cough coming from her dashboard while she settled. Dean squeezed his eyes shut again, giving himself a shake and restraining the urge to laugh as his heart squeezed again. He licked his lips, grimace tugging one side of his mouth again as he got a firmer grip on the duffle's handles.

"Yeah," he whispered, hand rising to the catch on the door. He wanted to say he was sorry, he wanted to say thank you - there were so many things he wanted to say, but none of them were really adequate. So maybe it was time to go while the getting was good.

"Do you...do you need any help?"

Dean froze, fingers loosely gripping the door handle, mind racing while he tried to work out what Birch was saying. After all, he couldn't possibly mean what Dean thought he did -

"I mean...if you need any - I can...help you." Birch's voice started out strong and petered off, unsure when his young passenger didn't visibly react to his words, his whole being as still as stone.

"You can't be...you aren't serious," Dean grated, turning to glare at him, but the effect was ruined by a devastating hope that he just couldn't keep out of his eyes. "Twig, you don't...you just don't know what you are offering."

"I think I do -"

"No! No...you can get hurt. I have no idea why I'm even considering this," Dean muttered, duffle going slack in his grip as he leaned back against the seat, eyes closing briefly while he tried to pull his wildly spinning thoughts together. He needed the assistance - there was no way he was going to get in and out quickly and efficiently without being spotted, not even _mentioning_ the time factor. He was grasping at straws here and here knew it. It was way too good to be true, to have someone that just accepted and was willing to help out -

But the risk was too great. No matter what Birch had done, what he had seen when he was a young man, a soldier - he was still a civilian. Civilians and ghosts just don't mix well, there was just no way to prepare anyone for their first encounter with a ghost - and this one was particularly nasty even as spooks went.

And Birch had done so much for him already. Shit, just even offering to help was way more than Dean could have ever dreamed of. He wasn't prepared for that, he wasn't used to kindness or generosity from strangers, just the opposite in fact - that was what he was used to, that's what he was raised into. But it was so tempting to accept the open hand (even if it could be used to slap him with later). It went against every instinct, it went against his very pride - and wasn't that, really, the whole point?

He took a deep breath and looked Birch in the eye, swallowing back hope and thanks and his damnable pride, his green eyes steady and serious as he studied the old man. He knew a way Birch could help, something that seemed so small in the grand scheme of things - but everything about this job hinged on this one little thing - the bonus being his new friend's safety in the long run. Birch could do him a big favor (which he would owe him _huge_ for, something his mind was more then willing to gleefully point out) and it would keep one Dean Winchester off the radar.

"I should say no. I should say alot of things. You've done more for me in the last few hours than most people -" he laughed lightly, though there was no humor in the set of his mouth. "Please... _please_ don't be fucking with me here, Twig. With what I've been through the past few months, I just don't think..."

He curled his lower lip, shaking his head as he pulled his gameface back on, taking all thoughts, all emotions that could do him in an gathering them into a tight ball to be crammed to the back of his head to deal with at a later time. He needed the help, yes. He could do without it, he really could - but it would make this case so much easier in so many ways. It would definitely make his escape easier. But all thoughts of Sam and Bobby and Hell and what came after had to wait for now, what was going to happen when he and Twig parted ways would have to come after too, it seemed.

He just needed to get his head out of his ass and focus, just this one last time.

"I'm sorry - I'm sorry, you don't need to hear that crap. But, if you really want to help me - you _truly_ want in on this, you've got to do exactly what I say and stick with the plan, okay?" He lasered his gaze on Birch, looking for doubt, for hesitation - and found none. Twig nodded his consent, seeming apprehensive and mildly bewildered sure - but he also recognized the excitement, the thrill that this adventure gave the old man, and while that was good to see, he was going to have to temper it before they started this hooraw. "You with me?"

"Yeah...yeah I am." Birch smiled. It was a sunny, open smile and it made Dean's spirits lift just to see it. "Don't worry - I can follow orders with the best of them, just tell me what I need to do and you can consider it done."

Dean studied him a moment longer, that feeling of 'this is too good to be true' still leaving him reeling, but he was also relieved. It didn't cover the whole host of other emotions that were battering at his walls right now, but relieved and grateful seemed to be at the top - the rest he could deal with later, when he got a moment to breathe.

"I just gotta know, Birch. Why? I mean - I could be feeding you the biggest cock and bull story you've ever heard and you just..." Dean shrugged, mouth twitching with an amused awe. "You truly believe me, just like that?"

Birch seemed thoughtful a moment, his eyes taking on that look that left Dean feeling like he was intruding again, his fingers tapping restlessly along the Chevy's steering wheel. He regained focus a few minutes later and the young man almost recoiled from the steely intensity of the farmer's gaze. If John Winchester has lived to be an old man - that was the look he would have carried everywhere - and the impact of it gave Dean a shiver that ran down his spine and left his toes curling in his boots.

"I've seen a lot of things there, Dean - a _lot_ of things. Probably not half of the amazing, awful and scary things that you may have seen, but I've seen things that would make most men die of fright, or go running home to hide behind their mama's skirts - full grown _men_ , mind - and I've lived to tell about them, though I never have. D'ya know the reason I picked you up?"

Dean shook his head slowly, unable to look away from those eyes as Birch talked, their focus so wise and young and yet so old that it left him feeling slightly off-center and chilled. He was glad to feel that, was glad to hear this secret that he would never have heard if he had just gone with his first instinct and left when the leaving was good.

"I saw something in you that I recognized, Dean. I knew the look, I knew the _walk_ \- I hate to see it in such a young man as yourself - but something told me, that if I just kept driving, I'd regret it. Do you know what I mean?" He didn't even look to see if Dean had responded, his eyes far away again as he looked at and through the dashboard of the old truck. "I've been riding with you all morning. I notice you don't say much - which is fine, as I said, I can more than make up for that. But what I did see, what I did hear...it's that _drive_ , that need to do what is right, what is _righteous_ \- even when no one else will. And I told myself, I said...I said 'Birch, you did the right thing'. My belief, what I think I know - isn't necessary, really - I don't know if that makes any sense, but that's what I think. It isn't _required_. You believe it, you know it - and though I've only known you a few hours at the outside, that's...that's good enough for me, you know? I don't know how, or why - but I feel for you as I do my own kin, Dean. That kinda scares me, but it makes me feel glad, too. So, whatever you say we gotta do, how ever you need me to help you out - though I know you'd never have asked - I'd be proud, I'd be _honored_ , to do so. Just can't seem to find a way to say it simpler than that."

Dean gawped at him, the urge to laugh bubbling from his belly, halting just below his throat as Birch laid it all out, some of his own thoughts and feelings about the last few hours tumbling from the old man's lips to paint the air between them. He was overwhelmed with gratitude, with sympathy and an odd tingle of joy that he hadn't felt in a very long time.

He had thought at the very beginning of this trip, that it was very odd that Twig had picked him up, he had wondered why - even as he had toyed with the idea that somehow they were destined to meet. Their tentative, though very new friendship, was just too easy, too fluid for it to be anything other than the Fate everyone constantly railed about. Now, it seemed Twig had thought the same thing, pretty much felt the same in damn near every respect. It was too easy, too simple, too quick - but it just felt wrong to try to deny that kinship that seemed there from the beginning, the inherent trust that was just there, like they were blood. It gave him an odd wave of guilt, thinking that way, but it was also the truth - and there was no denying the intense relief that followed on the heels of that guilty joy.

"Damn, Twig." He smiled, letting the laugh slip out a little as a deep, genuine smile lit his eyes from within. "You gonna buy me flowers and candy to go with? I'm not properly dressed, but if we're dating, you need to at least get your ducks in a row."

Birch looked flustered for a moment, then smiled back, recognizing the deflection for what it was and accepting it. Dean got it - he more than got it, he understood it from the viewpoint of a man who had felt the same - who was just as bewildered and thrown as he was, but was as equally pleased and thankful to have someone to call such a friend. Didn't do to reflect too much on it, though - sometimes when you got hit with the big reveals, you just had to roll with it, shrug and move on, secure in your steady footing.

"Well, seeing as how you're running this show, you might as well be the girl," Twig drawled, pleased when Dean barked out a laugh, the incredulous smile still dancing on his lips.

"Good one, old man - so...I have my answers. You're still crazy enough to not kick me out - wanna hear the game plan?"

"Thought you'd never get there punk, all that damned jawwin' - man could pass away before you get to the point."

"Alright, alright," Dean laughed. "Quit your bellyachin'. If you still want in, we're gonna need to get a few things first." He pulled out his notepad and pen, flipping to a fresh page as he started to write a list in his painfully neat print. He paused halfway through, catching Twig's attention with a sudden serious intensity. It was a look that Twig recognized and one he had given himself a few times in his life - and he wondered how anyone could not take this young man at anything other than face value. His eyes said he was a force to be reckoned with, even as they softened in kindness and relief.

"Thank you..." Dean said, so simple, so soft - but it conveyed a whole host of things, just as his eyes did - and Twig found himself happy to be counted this man's friend. It was over as soon as it had happened, Dean back to writing down a list of things in that quick, precise way that seemed to define his whole character. When he was done, he tore off the page near the spirals at the top, folding it in half before turning in his seat to hand it to Birch, page held loosely between two fingers, his mouth set in a firm line that was all business.

"Okay, since you are determined to give me a helping hand - and I still think you're crazy for not kicking me out while you had a chance -"

"Free coffee, son - and free gas." Birch laughed, pleased when Dean broke into a quick chuckle with him, even if it was only for a moment.

"Yeah, yeah - well, as I said, seeing as how you are still with me here, we're gonna need to get a few things. Here's what I need you to do..."

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings, Notes, Disclaimers and Links to be found in the last chapter...


End file.
